


Cabin Fever

by mitslits



Series: Return to the Citadel [9]
Category: Mad Max Fury road, Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:24:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4063261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitslits/pseuds/mitslits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Furiosa gets a touch of cabin fever. This time she decides to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We're approaching the end of the series, but I'll try to keep the (almost) daily updates up until this is done.

Furiosa watches the dust trail from Max's rig grow bigger and bigger as he approaches the Citadel. The fingers on her right hand twitch as she feels the hard leather of her wheel underneath them. There are things she misses about her old life. Driving the War Rig, or any vehicle for that matter, is one of them. 

He rumbles through the gates and is swarmed by a group of War Boys who immediately begin unloading the vehicle. Some of the War Pups hang around the fringes, watching the older men work. His forehead is smeared with the black grease that Furiosa had grown so used to applying and she feels an unreasonable surge of irritation. 

He lifts a hand in greeting to her and weaves his way through the crowd to reach her. 

"Trouble?" she asks, voice slightly sharper than she intends. 

He shakes his head. 

There's never any trouble on his runs, if he's to be believed, but she can see a freshly scabbed wound on the side of his neck and her eyes harden. "What's this?" she asks, reaching up and running her fingers over it. 

He shrugs. "Nothing. Run-in with a scavenger." 

For an instant Furiosa is back on the Fury Road, three war parties on her tail, fingers curled around the wheel, adrenaline surging through her veins. But that isn't her place now, and she blinks back to the present, throwing Max a frustrated glare.

"Be more careful next time. I need you alive", she snaps. 

An eyebrow inches up his face and she knows she's being unreasonable, but she doesn't much care. 

She turns on her heel and marches off, back to her life of settling arguments and cleaning up the mess the Immortan has left. 

It is only two days before Max is smearing his forehead with grease, climbing into the driver's seat of his rig. 

Furiosa has come to see him off, as she always does. She taps his door twice, signaling that everything is in order and he can take off. Her hand lingers on the sun-warmed metal just a fraction of a second too long. 

Max pokes his head out of the window and looks at her for a moment. "Could use some help on this run."

She glances sharply up at him. He's never needed help before and his tactic is easy to see through. Most of her wants to climb right up beside him and take back the roads that were once hers, but she has different responsibilities now and she sighs. "I'll find a War Boy."

When she turns to do just that, she is confronted by a wall of wives. 

"We'll take care of things", the Dag promises. 

"Go", Capable says. 

Furiosa doesn't hesitate. She gives them a nod, the relief on her face acting as thanks for their understanding. She starts to walk around to the passenger side door but Max shifts over, gestures to the wheel. Almost reverently, she climbs into the cab, curls her hands around the wheel, shifts the gears. 

Black-rimmed eyes meet her own as they eat up the ground, on their way to Gas Town. "Thank you", she says. 

Max brushes it away with a shrug. "Didn't feel like driving." He settles back against the door and is asleep within seconds.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even Max and Furiosa need to rest.

They drive through the first night. Max wakes as the sun sets and he and Furiosa exchange places. She falls into an easy sleep and he uses the stars as a guide.

The next day they are not so lucky. Halfway through, when the sun is at the highest point, the rig grinds to a halt and they are forced to make repairs. The sun beats down on them as they swarm over the vehicle, tightening loose bolts and giving the engine a chance to cool down. Neither of them have a chance to rest through the day and, by the time the moon is rising, they feel they should sleep. There is nothing pushing them at a fast pace this time and Furiosa finds it odd to be allowed as much rest as she needs.

They settle on opposite sides of the cabin, Furiosa leaning against the driver side door, Max leaning against the passenger side door. Their feet are a tangled mess in the middle, but they've both slept in far more uncomfortable conditions.

She feels the urge to thank him again, but knows he won't appreciate it. Instead she says only, "It's good to be back out here."

Max grunts in acknowledgement, lets silence fall again. After a few beats he glances back up at her, eyes slightly narrowed. "Worried?" he asks.

Furiosa shakes her head. "About the Citadel? No. The Sisters can take care of things. They don't need me as much as they think they do." The thought is reassuring, but also a touch unsettling. If she doesn't belong in the Citadel where _does_ she belong? Maybe she just doesn't have a place anywhere. 

They fall back into a comfortable silence until Furiosa hears Max's breath deepen. She glances out the windshield, looking up at the stars spread out across the blue-black sky. She thinks of the Green Place and of the Immortan, thinks of how nothing lasts long in the desert and hopes the Citadel will be different.

Eventually she settles her head back, runs her eyes over Max's sleeping form once more, and closes them, drifting off.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max and Furiosa run into trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This author's note contains spoilers for the next two chapters, but I suggest you read it anyways. THERE IS A MAJOR CHATACTER DEATH IN THIS CHAPTER. It is not detailed, it is not gory, but it happens so please be aware that it does.

Trouble starts with a raised bump in the sand. It looks like nothing more than a skinny sandbar, the same as thousands of others they've driven over. Their front wheels hit it, shake the sand off, the line of spikes stretching taut as they rumble over it. It shreds the back half of their front tires and scrapes its way along the underside of the rig before they have a chance of braking. 

Two small cars, bristling with spines, race up beside them, wild-eyed drivers crowing in their perceived victory. 

Max glances out the passenger side window, sees another car pulling up on that side. Three cars. Two wild-eyes in each. Max reaches for his pistol. 

Furiosa urges the rig faster but the shredded tires slow them down. With a frustrated groan she yanks the wheel sideways, sending the truck skidding into one of the cars on the driver's side. There are more spikes on its hubcaps but what the hell, she figures, their tires are already a lost cause. 

One of the wild-eyes brings up a shotgun, aims it right at her head. 

She presses herself against the steering wheel as Max leans around her, pistol in his hand already firing. 

His aim is good and the shotgun tumbles from the man's hands. 

The pedal of the rig is flat against the floor and still they're barely able to reach more than 30. 

The wild-eye who still remains in the first car is screaming at them, words ripped away by the wind.

A bullet rips through Max's window, buries itself in his shoulder. He clamps his teeth shut on a scream of pain and throws a vicious glare at the wild-eyes in the passenger-side car. Blood starts to soak through his shirt sleeve but he ignores it, aiming and shooting as quickly as he can before the man gets another chance at a shot. His first goes wild, pinging harmlessly against the doorframe. His next one is better and the wild-eye swears as the bullet finds a new home in his right hand. 

Furiosa watches Max out of the corner of her eye, doesn't like the look of his arm, doesn't have time to stop and help him. She tugs the rig free from the car and slams into it again, sending it veering into the path of its brother. They both skid to a halt, lost in the cloud of dust they throw up. 

The passenger-side car slows and Max watches as they leave it behind. He shrugs painfully out of his jacket, rips a shred off the bottom. Grunting, he ties off his arm, the rough tourniquet halting the slow stream of blood trickling out of his wound. 

"Are you-?" Furiosa's question is cut off by a sudden juddering and the rig's speed dips even lower. 

Max sticks his head out of the window and glances behind them. "Bastards got our back wheels", he snarls, spotting one of the cars digging its spikes into their back tires. 

The other two roar back up to the driver's side window, sending Furiosa ugly grins. 

She slams her hand against the wheel, cursing them under her breath. The rig is slowly juddering to a halt, but she locks the pedal in place, reaches into the backseat to pull out the shotgun. 

One of the wild-eyes hangs out the window of his car as the driver inches it closer to the side of their rig. He waits until he is almost painted against the metal before jumping, hands clutching at the ridged metal, feet scrambling for purchase on the small ledge. He clings there like a spider as the driver swerves away, falling back behind the other car. 

Furiosa whips out of the window and lines up her shot, wanting nothing more than to shoot the bastard right off her rig. A new slew of bullets forces her to duck back in and the wild-eye driver cackles insanely, brandishing his gun. 

The rig shudders reluctantly to a halt, engine whining. Furiosa pumps the pedal but the tires skid uselessly on the sand, rubber scraps unable to grab any purchase. She tugs Max down below window level as the wild-eye cars screech to a halt. 

They listen as the scavengers exit their cars, bang on the sides of the rig, laugh and crow to each other over what they consider an easy victory. Max clutches the pistol in his hand, Furiosa holds the shotgun in hers. 

She faces the driver-side door. Footsteps approach slowly, cautiously. The handle dips, the door starts to open... 

Furiosa blows half the man's face off with a shotgun blast, and he falls back into his companion. 

Max launches himself out of the passenger-side door, ramming his unhurt shoulder into the wild-eye waiting outside his door. His pistol flashes up, slams down into the scavenger's temple, sends him crumpling to the ground. He's tackled from behind, blinding pain flashing through him as a fist thuds into his bullet wound, gun clattering out of his hands. He goes down, grappling with the wild-eye he wounded before, judging by the blood streaming from his hand. 

Furiosa has lost the element of surprise and a wild-eye ducks out from under his newly deformed companion, hand locking around the barrel of the shotgun, yanking it to the side. She cocks her leg up and sends her boot into his face, hearing the satisfying crunch of bone. 

He falls away, hands clutched around his nose but another wild-eye springs up almost immediately to take his place, throwing himself on top of her desperately, pinning her underneath him. 

The shotgun is crushed between her chest and his, her arms awkwardly bent, giving her no leverage to push him off. She thrashes wildly, trying to wiggle out from under him. 

Max drives his elbow backwards, hears the wild-eye gasp for air, feels his grip loosen. He staggers away from the man's clutching, bloodied hands, reaching for the passenger side door of the rig. He can't see Furiosa through the window, can only see a man's heaving body. Two sets of hands lock around his arms and haul him backwards, unbalancing him. The two wild-eyes drag him through the sand, heading for the back end of the rig and, carrying him further away from Furiosa. 

Max's shoulder is screaming in agony, black dancing around the edges of his vision. Willing himself not to pass out he surges forward, straining against their grip. Both of his opponents are weakened, one with a near-useless hand, one with a concussion at the very least from his sudden and violent introduction to Max's pistol, and he breaks free, thudding down onto his knees. He scrambles forward, grasping hands closing around his gun. 

One of the wild-eyes launches forwards, slamming his boot down on Max's wrist, forcing him to let go. He reaches down, plucks up the gun, shoves it under Max's jaw. A dark bruise is already spreading over his temple. "C'mere", he growls, no pity in his voice. 

Max is ushered around the back of the rig until they come into sight of a man leaning against the other side, hands clapped over his nose, blood dripping down his chin. 

"Snaggle's on the bitch", he whines, voice high-pitched and nasally. 

The wild-eye with the bloodied hand heads for the cab of the rig as the man holding the pistol on Max starts dragging him back towards their cars.

Max goes limp, lets himself be carried back until they reach the first car. The wild-eye half turns to open the door, his attention slipping from his captive. Max makes his move, slamming his foot down on the man's instep and seizing his wrist, twisting until he hears a strangled scream mixed with the definitive snap of bone. 

The man with a broken nose's eyes widen and he reaches into his jacket, fumbling for something. His hands close around a long, cylindrical object, tug it and piece of flint out as Max struggles to peel the other wild-eye's fingers off the gun. He strikes the flint against the side of the rig, lights the signal flare up, starts to hold it high. 

Max's hand closes around the gun and he turns, aiming in one fluid motion. He fires. 

Too late, he notices the trail of guzzoline seeping from the gas tank, punctured by the line of spikes. Too late, he sees the flare blaze to life. 

The wild-eye drops, flare falling with him. The guzzoline ignites. 

There is a second's delay from the time when the fire reaches the gas tank to when it blows. Furiosa's face flashes in Max's mind. 

His world is fire. 

When he wakes it is with blistered skin, bullet wound sending shooting pains through his shoulder. The one remaining wild-eye lies beside him, unmoving. Dry-mouthed, Max winds his hand around his throat and doesn't let go until he's sure the man will never take another breath. 

There's no point searching the wreckage. Max does so anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna go ahead and apologize right now for the action scene. It's my first time writing one and... it shows. The movie kind of set a really high bar for that that I just can't reach. 
> 
> While I'm here I might as well throw in an apology about Furiosa as well. Sorry about that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max has to face reality.

It takes four days for Max to admit she's gone. Four days in which he painstakingly searches each bump in the sand, each scrap of jagged, burning metal for a sign of the woman he's lost. 

He barely sleeps, terrified of what he might see if he closes his eyes. Exhaustion forces him to face it on the third night and he jerks awake thrice, each time hearing Furiosa whisper 'Remember me' into his ear. Each time he expects to find her sitting next to him. She isn't. 

He searches the wild-eye's body for a key, finds one, remembers his hands around his throat, choking the life out of him. He gets in the car and drives away. 

The Citadel looms over him. He can feel the walls laughing at him, whispers running through the stone about how he even managed to drag the Immortan back but he has nothing of Furiosa. 

The guards almost shoot him as he drives up. 

He ditches the car outside the gate, walks in, is surrounded by his living guilt. 

"Furiosa?" Cheedo's voice. 

"Where is she?" The Dag's voice. 

"Max, what's happened?" Capable's voice.

Toast pales. "She's gone", she whispers, words swimming through sandpaper to escape her throat. 

Max nods. "Died fighting." It is the only comfort he has to offer them. It is far from enough. 

Their world is upside down. 

Capable blames him, at first, says he should have protected her. 

The Dag whispers prayers to herself, daughter clinging to her fingers, looking up at her mother with wet eyes. 

Toast forces herself out of her grief and does what she can to prepare the Citadel for life without the Liberator. 

It is not long before the others join her. 

Cheedo tends to Max with gentle hands. 

He makes no sound, even as she digs the bullet out of his shoulder, burns out the infection she finds there. His pain is his penance. As soon as she is finished he stands, inclines his head in a poor excuse for a farewell. 

She presses her lips together and gives him a sympathetic look but lets him walk out without a word.

Max leaves the Citadel. He never comes back. 

His nightmares do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've reached the end of the series! I apologize for the lateness of this final chapter, but a busy schedule prevented an earlier release. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I have writing it (as cliche as that sounds, I really did have a ton of fun with it).


End file.
